


Frozen in Death

by Kefalion



Category: Captain America (Movies), Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Iron Man (Movies), The Avengers (2012), Thor (Movies)
Genre: F/M, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-05-13
Updated: 2013-08-24
Packaged: 2017-12-11 18:04:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 22,499
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/801558
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kefalion/pseuds/Kefalion
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Harry received his Hogwarts letter in 1929 his best friend Steve Rogers was the first to know. When Harry killed Voldemort, he knew that the war wasn't over. When Steve woke up in 2011 Harry was there. Now it is time that he explained a thing or two to his old friend. For a there is a new threat to humanity that they have to face, this time together with the Avengers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Waking Up

Steve Rogers, better known to the world as Captain America woke up slowly. He felt as if he was surfacing from someplace deep; a place which had been dark and cold, very,  _very_ cold. His consciousness drifted gradually to the surface through a thick, white fog. The first thing he became aware of was sound. He listened intently trying to understand what he was hearing.

There wasn't much for him to hear. A low buzzing was a steady undertone in the background; he couldn't tell what was making it as it was mostly drowned by the sound of his own steady breathing and the pounding of his own heart.

The next sense to return to him was his sense of touch. He could feel that he was lying on something relatively soft, a bed most likely. Unconsciously he moved his hands minutely, feeling the structure of the sheets gliding against his palms.

Steve opened his eyes, blinking against the light. His vision was blurry at first. He saw unfocused shapes, only able to take in the colours; white, cream, soft greys and muted greens.

He blinked more and could progressively see clearer. He was on his back, looking up at a plain white ceiling. A fan was spinning lazily, trying to move the sultry air in the small room.

He rubbed his hand across his eyes, making the last haze over his eyes disappear. His limbs felt uncomfortably heavy, stiff and unresponsive, working against him as he tried to move.

The bed he was lying on, for now he knew with certainty it was a bed; was a standard iron-framed, white painted hospital bed. It wasn't the most comfortable bed he'd woken up on. Then again, neither was it the worst so he wasn't about to complain.

The environment appeared friendly enough. Still, the instincts Steve had acquired during his service in the war demanded that he shouldn't assume that things were what the looked like.

He sat up stiffly, groaning softly as he could feel the tendons in his back work against his muscles. Then he analyzed his surroundings, beginning with locating and memorizing the exits. After which he proceeded to search for any hostile objects.

Soft daylight fell in through the windows; lighting up the room, next to him on the bedside table sat a lamp and a pitcher brimming with clear water. Or at least he thought it was water, he couldn't be sure seeing as not that all see-through liquids are water.

His tongue felt like a piece of old leather in his mouth, and the innocent looking liquid was calling out to him, promising to sooth his dry throat, but that would have to wait. Better safe than sorry, and all that.

A light breeze made its way in through an open window to his left, making the drapes flutter slightly and a nice looking radio, all shiny, red tinged wood stood on an equally shiny bureau, it was silent.

The Captain took in everything. From the roses which were standing in a glass vase next to the radio, to the heaters under the windows. Things looked alright, innocent, normal and  _safe._  But his instincts told him otherwise. Something was wrong and he was going to find what.

Through the windows he could see the cityscape. If he wasn't mistaken it was New York he could see out there, and that had to be a good thing. It probably meant that he was with allies.

Steve drew in a deep breath through his nose, trying to reconcile with the new environment, the silence, the gentle sunshine and warm wind. It contrasted greatly with the last things he remembered.

In his last memory he had been aboard that strange HYDRA aircraft, the Valkyrie, and he had deliberately crashed it. Things had gone black for him before the actual crash though. He could only remember seeing the ice rushing up against him, not the impact. He supposed he should be grateful for that.

In his last minutes he had spoken with Peggy over the radio. He had told her that Harry had jumped after that Grindelwald fellow, and that this man apparently was the brains behind the entire organization. Schmidt who they had through was the leader had only been Grindelwald's puppet.

Steve had told Peggy that they would go dancing.

"Don't you dare be late," she had demanded of him with a choked laugh, understanding why Steve wanted to talk about dancing. She understood that he didn't want to dwell on the situation he was in; about to crash, about to die. She respected and understood that he wanted to be happy in what was likely his last moments.

Steve had been thankful that the English woman had understood him. He didn't want to think about the image of Harry jumping through the hole in the hull of the plane that the cube had made. Though hearing Peggy's accent hadn't made it easier to put his friend out of his mind.

Steve thought back and wondered what had happened. He had no idea if Harry had survived or not. By all accounts he himself should be dead. No human should have been able to survive a crash like that. But he wasn't truly human any more was he? Even though it wasn't visible like it was with Schmidt who was accurately called Red Skull he had changed when his body accepted the serum.

The Captain propped himself up better on the bed, massaging his temples with sluggish fingers. He had a killer headache going for him which wasn't helping him as he tried to make sense of the situation. He was glad to not be dead, of course he was, but things were strange and it unnerved him.

Recovering his body would not have been a top priority. It shouldn't have been. Peggy, Howard and Harry, if he had made it, would undoubtedly have spent every resource at their disposal to find him; the thing was just that high command would have put a stop to it, giving them a bland refusal. As long as the war was still raging they were better needed fighting the battles. A dead soldier was nothing new and hardly something they should spend their energy on. So how had he been rescued?

But since he was here that might mean… no, he dared not hope.

Steve slumped back on the bed, pulling the pillow from under his head and hitting it in an attempt to make it fluffier, to try and get better support for his neck.

For now there wasn't much he could do, the next move was with the people who kept him here, whether they be allies of enemies. All he could do was to wait.

His mind was still not up to speed. He really wished his headache would dissipate so that he could think. His body wasn't feeling right either. His limbs sluggish, muscles turned into cement, tendons and joints cracking. If you were to have an attempt at escaping enemy holdings those conditions were anything but good.

He was tired even though he guessed that he must have been out for a long time and he realized that fighting against it would be futile. Giving in Steve put his arm across his eyes, blocking out all the light and succumbed to sleep.

-«¤»-

Steve was woken by a sharp knocking on the door. He sat up, alert and ready, even though his back protested and he felt a throbbing in his head.

"Come in!" he called, his voice hoarse, but loud. As the handle of the door moved, his muscles tensed, adrenaline flowed trough his body, making him ready to attack at a moments notice if the person of the other side proved to be a threat.

The door glided open and Steve watched with a pounding heart as a man in a familiar green uniform stepped in, the badges showing that he held the rank of general.

The man himself was familiar. He was tall and muscular and he had the trademarked messy black hair and emerald green eyes.

"Harry," Steve breathed in disbelief, the relief was intense and he relaxed, a smile breaking out on his face. "You're alive!"

"Hey, mate." Harry said softly. "Glad to see that you're awake."

All of Steve's worries dissipated. He wasn't in some German Prison where the Nazis had tried to give him false security by providing him with a familiar environment. He was with allies and everything would be okay. Harry was here, right in front of him, looking just like he remembered.

Everything was familiar, from the old scar on his forehead to the raven hair and the British accent that had only grown stronger once he started going to that school in Scotland.

Steve could feel his smile turning into a stupid grin. Harry returned the smile, though it might have been a bit strained.

"How are you feeling?" the dark-haired man asked. "We've been quite worried about you. We began to think that you would never wake up."

"A bit drowsy, I suppose and very stiff," Steve answered honestly. He knew from experience that it was the best way to go about Harry. His friend had been lied to one too many times and appreciated honesty. It also reflected in how bad of a liar the man himself was, all the while keeping many secrets. "I also have a headache."

"Do you want something against that?"

Steve chuckled, the small laugh turning into a cough. "You know it won't work on me," he said wryly. "I can drown a fist full of pills and it won't make a difference, not that I need any pain killers most of the time. That serum was good for something. Though from time to time I wish I could get drunk."

"I remember," Harry murmured. "After Bucky it wouldn't have been so bad to escape reality for a while." He pulled a small bottle from one of his pockets and handed it to Steve. "However this stuff might just work for you."

The blond man peered suspiciously at the dark vial. He uncorked it with caution and gave it a hesitant sniff, scrunching up his nose in distaste. "This smells horrid."

"It tastes it too. Just swallow it in one. I promise it'll help."

"If you say so." He has always trusted Harry and he wasn't about to stop now. Steve swallowed the sticky substance, gagging at the taste and then his headache disappeared as if had never been there, his muscles relaxing. He felt nothing short of great.

"This is amazing!" he said peering at the vial as if trying to figure out the mystery it held "How does it work?"

"Magic," Harry answered and Steve wasn't sure whether it was meant to be metaphorical or not. "I see you haven't touched the water. Suspicious much?"

"Can you blame me?"

"No. I suppose that would be the pot calling the kettle black." Harry smiled. "I've missed you, mate. Not everyone understands to be cautious. They just dismiss me by calling me _paranoid_."

"But you are paranoid, Harry."

"Pot, kettle," Harry muttered, giving a half hearted glare.

Steve just grinned. "You've taken after that old teacher of yours, the one from the special task force. What was it he always said?"

"Constant Vigilance!" Harry boomed in a rough voice, imitating his teacher. "But you can drink the water. It's quite safe, drew it from faucet myself."

"Okay. Water doesn't sound half bad after that thing you gave me. It might work miracles but it tastes like poison."

"You do know that it's medicine that tastes like shit, many poisons on the other hand have a lovely taste," Harry commented as Steve drowned a glass of water, his mouth beginning to feel normal and the taste of that liquid Harry had given him being washed away.

The blond grimaced. "Right, it makes sense."

"Yeah, lulling you into a false sense of security, like a Venus trap, or a siren. Anyway, you were down for quite some time."

"How long?"

There was a pause before Harry answered; a pensive frown on his face. "Today's the third of March," he said.

"Oh." Steve didn't know what to respond. His mind was blank. What do you say when you find out that it's been over a month since you were awake the last time?

"That's not as bad as I thought," he settled on saying. He knew that he could have been out far longer than that, a month he could work with.

"Right," Harry said, but there was something wrong with his smile. It didn't reach his eyes and the chuckle that followed had an edge to it.

The suspicious Steve felt was fuelled. Something was funny here and it wasn't in the ' _ha, ha, I want to laugh'_  sort of way. The Captain tried not to dwell on it, concentration instead on a question that had been on the forefront of his mind since he woke, since he saw that Harry was alive.

"How did you make it? After you jumped out of the plane, I mean. How could you survive that? Has it something to do with… you know?"

"Yeah." Harry drew his hand through his hair; it was a gesture Steve recognized. Harry would do that when he was nervous.

"Before the assault you promised me that you would tell me everything once it was all over. Is that promise still true?"

"Yes. I will tell you, Steve. I promised then and I promise you now. But I have something else to tell you first. Mind if I sit down?" Harry gestured to the bed, seeing as there were no where else to sit in the room.

"Sure." Steve scooted over on the bed, leaving room for his friend. And the room was needed. They were equally bulky now days. It was such a big change from when they were kids. Anybody who hadn't seen them since their teenage years would never have been able to recognize them.

Both had been the most pathetic of runts; scrawny and short, Steve with his asthma, wheezing as soon as he experienced any physical exertion and Harry with his horrible eyesight, forcing him to wear those bulky glasses.

"I don't want you to freak out on me, but there's more to the date."

The blond man didn't follow. "What do you mean?"

Harry sighed, once more running his hand through his hair. "I never mentioned the year, did I?"

"Harry, what aren't you telling me?" Steve became wary. He didn't like this. Not one bit. He had never been the sort of person to take enjoyment out of saying ' _I told you so.'_ Learning that his instincts had been leading him right, that there was something seedy going on gave him no satisfaction what so ever.

Harry hesitated, feeling his friend's growing agitation. "It's not 1945 any longer."

"Are you trying to tell me that I haven't been out for a month but an entire year?" Steve asked, frowning.

"Not exactly."

"Harry?"

"I don't know how to break it to you, mate."

"Tell me what's going on. Please. Has the war gone bad? Are we loosing?" Steve could feel himself starting to hyperventilate as his mind conjured up one horrible, bloody scenario after another; cities in ruins, battlefields with soldiers lying dead everywhere, Hitler in the White House.

"Steve! Calm down! The war is over! We won!"

"We won?" Steve asked weakly, trying to breath normally again.

"Yes. We won the war. Hitler killed himself in May '45. The allied armies and the Russians were advancing on Berlin and he knew it was over. He didn't want to be taken alive so he committed suicide in his bunker. The German forces were scattered, HYDRA defeated, there was no way for them to continue."

"It's over. The war is actually over." Steve was trying to grasp what he was hearing. The war which had ruled his life had come to an end. The war which had driven him, had changed his body and mind, had given him opportunities, reunited him with his old friend, and made him lose another was over.

"Yes, it's over," Harry whispered, grasping his shoulder.

"That's great!" Steve exclaimed, somehow keeping the cry to nothing more than a whisper.

"Yeah, yeah it is." Harry didn't look happy though, not at all and Steve remembered that there was something Harry had not told him yet.

"You still aren't telling me something. So it's 1946 now?"

"No." Harry had a pinched look on his face.

"No?" Steve stared. "Harry how much time has passed? 2 years?"

Harry shook his head.

"3 years? 4? 5?"

Harry kept shaking his head, staying mute and refusing to meet Steve's gaze.

"Harry, come on! It couldn't have been that long!" Steve insisted. "You look just like the last time I saw you!"

"You're forgetting that you're not the only one who's…  _special,_ " Harry murmured, studying his cuticles with great interest.

"What?"

"I don't age, Steve." There was a hard edge to Harry's voice, which reflected in his eyes when he looked up from his hands.

"You. Don't. Age." The blond man repeated the words one by one as if they would make more sense if he got to hear them again.

"No, and you haven't aged either. You were frozen in the ice for a long time. The world moved on without you."

"Please quit stalling. Just give me the year. I can take it."

"Are you sure?"

"Tell me the year, Harry!" Steve snapped, growing irritated, something which wasn't easy to accomplish.

Harry was still hesitating.

"I'm not joking around, Potter."

It was hearing his last name coming over Steve's lips that finally made Harry spit it out. "Fine! The year's 2011."

"No." Steve could feel his brains stopping. He couldn't process the information. It was impossible. It couldn't be possible. He couldn't accept it. It hadn't been one year. It hadn't been five years or ten. It had been nearly seventy years. Seventy years! He had been frozen in ice for sixty-six years.

"No," he said again. Harry was gazing at him with pity in his green eyes, not that Steve noticed. All of his thoughts were concentrated on trying to reconcile with this new information.

He had crashed on a glacier in the middle of nowhere. That much he knew and when he had woken up the first time, he did have a feeling of having been very cold.

"No, it can't be."

"I'm sorry," Harry whispered his hand a steady, warm weight on Steve's shoulder. And Harry looked sorry too, tired far beyond the years he appeared to have lived, coinciding more with the years he claimed had passed.

The Captain was unable to sit still. Restless energy was surging through his body. He jumped up and started pacing agitatedly. "If this is your idea of a joke I'm telling you now that it's not funny."

"Do you really think I would do that to you?"

"No." Steve's anger deflated and he had to steady himself against a wall to keep on his feet. "Please tell me you're lying," he begged in a strangled whisper.

"I wish I was. I hate to be the one to tell you this. But you need to know. It's the truth and you will have to live with it."

"Harry…" Steve trailed off. "I, I just don't know what to say."

Steve stood there, leaning against the wall, his gaze trailing until he was looking out the window.

"The city looks the way it always has," he said in what he knew was a futile attempt to make things understandable. He pointed at the view and the familiar buildings. As far as he was concerned that was all the evidence he needed. The cityscape would have changed over the course of seventy years, and things were as they had been the last time he was home.

"It's just a poster," Harry murmured. "It's not real. We're in a government facility. All of this is staged. What you see isn't real, the view, the furniture, the room, my sadly outdated uniform."

"Why?"

Harry snorted. "It was so that you could be eased in. I never thought it was a good idea. I thought they should have left me in charge, but Fury has his ideas. Anyway, I simply played a long so that I'd get to be the first one you met. Seeing a familiar face could only be good for you. Not to mention that I really wanted to see you. I'm so glad that you're awake and that you're alive."

"Yeah, me too. It's just a lot to take in."

"I get that. I'll help you as best I can. You're not alone, mate. You'll never be alone."

"Thanks Harry."

"You've got it."

Still Steve longed for something he could understand, and the shiny radio came to mind. He walked over to it and turned it on.

Music that was like nothing the Captain had ever heard blazed through the speakers. A man was screaming, while bangs and something resembling heavy machinery played in the background.

He stood there, staring at the radio, stunned. He felt certain that his eyes were large as saucers. This couldn't be music could it?

He turned it off, turning to look at Harry, desperate for an explanation. "What  _was_  that?"

Harry's green eyes sparkled with mirth and a smile was tugging at the corners of his mouth. "Welcome to the twenty-first-century," Harry deadpanned, before breaking out into laughter, no matter the situation Steve's horrified face was priceless.

"Does all music sound like that?"

"Nah, there's still music like you used to know it."

"Okay."

"Are you ready to face the new century, the new millennia?"

"Do I have to?" the blond man asked, mock whining. Right now he just felt like stalling. He needed a few more moments to compose himself. He was a soldier and he had seen some weird shit. Facing the unknown shouldn't scare him, but he'd lie if he was to say that it didn't.

"Yes," the man in the uniform said with exaggerated strictness, managing to almost tower over his friend while being seated on the bed. "If not today then you have to do it tomorrow."

"Tomorrow sounds good," Steve muttered.

"I know all of this is hard to believe, and I know that it won't be easy for you to adapt. To some extent I've been where you are now. Never for this long, but I've missed a few years and it can royally screw up your life. It's hard to accept, impossible to grasp now that all you've seen is this room, but it is the reality of things." Harry sighed, his hand once more finding its way into his hair.

"You've been asleep too?" Steve latched on to that bit, realizing that Harry had lived seventy years. He couldn't be exactly the same man he had known. Things would have happened and he hadn't been there to see them.

"I guess you could say that. Not that I was really asleep, but yeah. I'll tell you all about it later, promise."

"Okay."

Harry got up from the bed and walked up to Steve, enveloping him in a tight hug. "I've missed you a lot, Steve. You have no idea how much. It was hard losing you. I've lost so many people. It'll be good to have a friend who knows what it was actually back then."

"What do you mean?"

"Most people don't remember because they weren't born yet. And those who were, well there aren't too many left. We lost so many during the fights and now they are passing away from old age."

"What happened to you? I've missed so much. How are you? Are you married? Do you have children?"

"I never married. I couldn't. Not after…" Steve nodded, remembering, "and then when I noticed that I wasn't aging." Harry sighed. "Can we take this a bit later? It's a long story."

"We will talk though, won't we?"

"Yeah. Come on; let's get you out of here."

"You said 2011. That's 66 years. Everyone I know is probably dead, everything I know is changed. You're still here, but do I know you?"

"You know me Steve. It'll be alright. Things may have changed, but in everything essential things have remained the same. I'm still me. People will always be people and some from back then are still with us. Peggy is a stubborn old lady, I'll have you know."

"So Peggy's alive?"

"She is, 92 years old and still going strong. I think she's trying to outlive me, just to prove a point."

"Sounds like Peggy." Steve half-smiled as he though of the strong-willed woman he had known and slowly come to love.

"She's had a good life, but I think she would fight death as long as there was the slightest chance that she would see you again. Just like I and Howard she never stopped hoping that we would find you."

"Oh." Steve was touched. It was an amazing feeling to know that you had never been forgotten, even when more than half a century had passed. "And Howard?"

"He's dead. It's been almost twenty years and I wasn't there…"

Steve could feel a lump forming in his throat. "How did he die?"

"It was a car accident. He and his wife Maria died instantaneously."

The blond didn't push any more; he could see that remembering their mutual friend's death wasn't easy for him, and he himself was full of disbelief. He was beginning to wonder how much more he would be able to take without snapping.

Harry begun to speak again. "Still I think I can consider myself lucky. My friends back in Britain age more slowly than other people. I am very thankful for that, and I'm dreading the day when Ron and Hermione are no longer with me. What keeps me going is the fact that I've also made a few new friends that will be around for a long time. This universe is larger than we thought."

"Does that have anything to do with…?" Steve left the sentence unfinished, as he always did when it came to all the strange things in Harry's life that his friend refused to explain.

"Yeah. The community I belong to are full of special people with extraordinary abilities. I'm just more special than the rest. Forever the freak." The last word was said bitterly, eyes downcast.

"Hey! Don't say that! I thing I got you to stop thinking that when we were still kids."

"But it's the truth. I'm a freak."

"No. It. Is. Not. The. Truth!" Steve said each word with emphasis. "The Dursleys were horrible people and you know it. You are special, out of the ordinary, one of a kind, maybe. But never a freak."

Harry smiled, looking up. "Thanks. I supposed I needed to hear that. It's hard to forget what you are told for years as a child, and it's not made easier when there's something to it."

Steve sighed but didn't call Harry out on once again saying that him being a freak wasn't such a foreign concept. "We stood together then and we'll stand together now. We can be  _freaks_  together. God knows I'm even weirder than I used to think if I could survive being preserved in ice for that many years."

Harry smirked slightly, and the blond held up a hand to stop him from saying anything.

"Yes, now I'm the one calling myself a freak. Get over it."

Harry chuckled. "Alright I won't say anything."

"Thanks." Steve sighed, copying Harry's gesture of running a hand through his hair. "You'll help me understand the world, won't you?"

"Of course I will. I still consider you my best friend. I'll help you in any way I can."

Harry backed up a bit, straightened his back, assuming an air of authority which had the soldier in Steve standing at attention. He was curious as to what the other man was up to.

"Now are you ready to face the world, Captain?"

"Yeah, I suppose I am."

"Are you ready, Captain?"

"Yes, I am, General." Steve saluted, understanding what Harry was up to. Falling back into his military role was a comfort. He had a superior and all he would have to do was to follow. It was easy. It was understandable. It gave him the security he needed.

"Thanks," he murmured.

"Anytime."


	2. Of Lab Rats and Friends

Harry smiled encouragingly and walked to the door, opening it and waiting for Steve to follow.

The Captain followed, but after a few steps he became aware of how cold the floor felt beneath his feet. He was barefoot, dressed in only a simple white t-shirt with the logo of the air force and a pair of beige trousers. It was like after he had been injected with the serum. The cold didn't really bother him; still he didn't fancy walking around without anything on his feet.

"Ehum," he said, gaining Harry's attention. "Do you think I could have a pair of shoes first?"

"Oh, yeah." The dark-haired man blushed slightly, which made Steve feel a lot better. The new century might have come without him being aware, but some things had apparently not changed; his friend was still prone to going red when embarrassed and he guessed that he himself would still be as clueless around women as he'd always been.

"Hold on a minute, I'll get you a pair," Harry said disappearing around a corner. Steve could hear him talking to someone; the sound was muted and only soft murmurs reached him.

Harry returned a few moments later a pair of white shoes in his hands.

"These are called trainers," Harry explained holding the shoes up then he smirked slightly, "or as you yanks would say sneakers, they're really comfortable and great for exercise. Just lace them up and we'll get going."

The blond accepted the  _sneakers_ and a few moments later he was ready to join Harry. As soon as he walked out that door, it was proven that the room he had woken up in was just a prop, used to make him think that no time had passed.

They were in a big dark hall, which was empty except for two people in black uniforms.

"This is how special agents look these days, unless they are wearing suits," Harry informed him, his voice echoing in the large space. He walked steadily to one of the walls and opened a pair of double doors.

They walked out into a corridor and Steve began to realise that things had changed a lot, feeling the urge to run back into the room he had woken up in, he pressed it down though. This was the reality and he'd better get used to it.

One side of the corridor was made completely of glass; there were no seams or anything, just plain, smooth, never ending glass.

The designs, patterns and shapes that formed the floor, ceiling and other walls, felt alien to the Captain. If he was to compare it to anything it would be what he had seen at the Stark Expo before Bucky left for Europe, back when he was still trying to enlist in the army, the very day when he had met Dr. Abraham Erskine.

Apart from the space itself Steve was taking in an overload of impressions from the people who were milling about. Dozens of men and women all dressed in smart suits, as Harry had told him agents would be, were hurrying back and forth on their way to who knew what.

"Where are we?" the blond man asked, keeping close to Harry's side.

"We really are in New York City, they didn't make that up. I mentioned that we are in a Government facility belonging to a secret service organization called SHIELD or Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement and Logistics Division."

"Okay."

"Let's go outside, I think that will give you the needed cultural shock."

"Sounds splendid," Steve said in a tone that didn't fool anyone. Harry just grinned and led on.

"Potter!" a voice called, and it was soon followed by a dark-skinned man, who pressed through the crowd. The man was dressed all in black, his most prominent feature a pirate style eye patch, from under which black coloured veins originated.

"Director Fury," Harry acknowledged the man without stopping.

"This was not what I asked you to do," he said gesturing at Steve.

"It wasn't," Harry readily agreed and Steve had to smirk. That was one more thing that hadn't changed. Harry still wasn't good at following orders. That was why it had been a blessing for him and a curse for the chain of command that he had a high rank.

"Why didn't you follow my orders?" The man sounded exasperated, but not too surprised.

"Because I didn't agree with them."

"That's no reason to disregard what a superior officer tells you! You work for me, Potter. I won't have you forget it."

"Ah, but Fury, I don't work for you," Harry said in a chiding tone, as if talking to a child, and when you knew his true age you had to concede that he had the right to do so. "I'm a consultant. It was you who wanted me here, I can easily quit if you've changed your mind and you wouldn't be able to find me. I hid before and I can do it again, better this time I might add as I have a better understanding of how you work compared to in the past. Or if you prefer I could give my Ministry a call. I'm sure they would be happy to have me back. Or maybe I could call…"

"Yes, yes I get it. There's no need for anyone else to get involved."

"I'm so glad we agree. I would hate to cause any trouble, Director."

"Right you would. I hate consultants," the man muttered, then he turned away from Harry and stretched out his hand to Steve. "I'm Director Nicholas Fury of SHIELD. It's good to finally meet you, Captain."

Steve shook hands with the Director, knowing without having to be told that this most certainly was his new boss.

"I'm glad you found me," he settled on saying, seeing as telling the man his name was redundant, and he wasn't sure just yet that he was all that glad to make his acquaintance. "Couldn't have been easy."

"It wasn't. A lot of time and resources went into retrieving you, Captain. Will my investment pay off?"

"Yes, sir." That settled it, he wasn't happy about meeting the man. Not a minute into the conversation and already he wanted something.

"Oh, lay off, Fury," Harry said bitingly. "You don't have the right to brag. I know you've been running the show for the past decade, but before that it was Howard who kept the effort alive."

"Yes, Stark did his part. Still finding and retrieving Captain Rogers would have been impossible had it not been for this organisation and the circumstances being in our favour."

"What happened that enabled you to find me?" Steve interjected, seeing as Harry was about to say something more, which would probably start an argument.

"The ice moved at your location, unveiling the aircraft. Some scientists who were in the area, called it in and my people uncovered it. And you could guess at their surprise when they didn't only find a man in the ice, but a man who was alive."

As they had been walking Harry had led them to an entrance hall, and the doors to the outside world lay before them.

Harry stopped by the doors and hummed softly. "This isn't the most inconspicuous outfit," he muttered to himself.

"It was necessary for what I wanted you to do, Potter. Which reminds me; you still haven't given me a good reason for ignoring orders."

"Was my explanation of it being a stupid idea; doomed to fail, not good enough for you?"

Fury gazed at him impassively with his one good eye.

"Steve would have found out even sooner if it wasn't for my intervention."

Fury waited silently for Harry to elaborate, clearly not impressed.

"The game you were planning on having the radio play," Harry said as if it explained it all. Neither Steve nor Fury agreed.

"What about it, Potter?"

"It was played in '41."

"Yes?" The 'and why the fuck does it matter?' was left unsaid and became all the more obvious for it.

Steve watched in bemusement as his friend riled up the director. Fury was clearly a man who wasn't used to opposition.

"My friend here," Harry draped an arm across Steve's shoulders, "was at that game. I know for he wrote all about it in one of his letters to me. It was apparently a very exiting game. I suppose that's why you chose it in the first place."

"You have one more minute to make your point."

"That's fine. I only need a half."

Fury looked like he was about to combust. "Sometimes I could swear that you and Stark are the same person."

"Stark? As in Anthony Stark?" Harry questioned.

"Yes. What is it now? Please don't tell me you know him."

"I did know him," Harry said, his tone much more mellow. "I was close to Howard; it shouldn't be a surprise for you that I knew his son as well." Harry stayed silent for a moment. "We haven't seen each other in a long time now, though." Regret flickered over Harry's face and Steve could sense that there was more to this then what was being said, especially when a spark suddenly came alight in Harry's eyes.

"You say that he's like me? How are we alike?"

"You're both infuriating. You both refuse to follow orders and you're both consultants."

"That's… " A huge grin broke out on the green eyed man's face. "I don't know what that is actually, but I suppose it's good." Harry's face then shifted, and he looked around worriedly as if he expected someone to jump out behind a pillar. "He's not around is he?"

Fury glared. "No, Stark's not here. He doesn't really want anything to do with SHIELD and last I heard he was based in Malibu California."

"Ah, good, that's good," Harry muttered, relief and regret flickering across his face.

"Uh-huh," the Director said impatiently. "Now that this tangent is done with, you still have a few seconds to make your point."

"Right, my point…" Harry pulled on his cheerful and superior attitude like the armour Steve knew it to be. "Steve isn't stupid. He would have recognised the game and known that something was wrong. Knowing the Captain he would have already rushed down a dozen of your agents; forcing you to make a scene outside. So you see. I spared you some work. Now if you would hold this please." Harry had pulled off the jacket of his uniform and handed it over to the Director who stared at the garment as if it had offended him.

"Potter, what are you on about now?"

"We're stepping outside and I don't want to draw any unwanted attention. Being dressed in that will do that, so you see I'm saving you more extra work again. Come on Steve, we can chat more with the Director later."

"Potter, I'm not here to serve upon you!" Fury bellowed dropping the jacked to the floor.

"That's fine," Harry said absentmindedly, his hand on the door, his gaze searching. His eyes lit up when he found what he was looking for.

"Hey, Phil! Would you please take care of the jacket?" Harry gazed thoughtfully at Fury's raging face for a moment before he added; "and maybe the Director as well. I and the Captain are going out."

A man with receding hairline stepped up to them. Steve had no idea where he had come from; he could have sworn that he hadn't been there a minute ago. The man picked up the jacket without making a face.

"Now you have my Agents picking up your clothes?"

"Don't blame me! It was you who dropped it. Thanks, Phil. I'll see you later, okay?"

"Of course, Harry," the man named Phil said in an even tone, casting a quick glance at Steve.

If Steve wasn't mistaken there was longing and indecision in his eyes, but it was over rather quickly as the man turned back to Harry.

"I came to talk to the Director in any case." He quickly switched his attention to Fury. "We require your presence at level thirteen. Dr. Selvig's here."

"I see. Go on then, Potter. Show Rogers around, but then I want him back here. We need to do some evaluations. Alright, Rogers?"

"Yes, sir."

Fury walked away with the man Harry called Phil.

"Finally rid of him. He's like a leach, once he's got hold of you he doesn't let go till he's had his fill. Now I think we had one order of culture shock coming up."

-«¤»-

It had been over two weeks since Steve had woken up and it had been over two weeks since he'd seen as much as a glimpse of Harry.

Neither had he seen Director Fury. The only person he had met that he recognized from his first day back amongst the living was Agent Phillip Coulson. And that encounter had been slightly awkward.

He had learned the man's full name the next day when he was led from the room he had been given. This time the room was modern, with many items he had no idea how to use. Who needs a remote control to turn on the lights anyway?

Agent Coulson had been hesitant to leave and as it had turned out Steve or rather Captain America was the man's greatest idol. While the man stayed rather professional, it made Steve feel uncomfortable and when it was an option he strived to avoid the Agent.

After just a few days Steve was starting to grow weary of the routine at the SHIELD head quarters. It followed the same pattern without fail, only small things breaking up the monotonous existence that had become his new life.

He'd wake in the morning, have a shower, walk to the cafeteria one floor below his room and eat breakfast before one of the agents would escort him to the day's activity; which meant that he was escorted to a new lab where they subjugated him to test after test.

They said that they wanted to make sure that everything was alright with him, but Steve was beginning to think that he was back at square one. Back to the two choices he had when he'd just been injected with the serum; become a circus monkey or a lab rat. Only this time there was only one choice; lab rat.

They had taken so many blood samples that Steve had to wonder what they would do with it all; for they must have taken at least a gallon worth of blood.

They had also made him go through several physical and mental tests. From what he could tell everything was fine with him. Except the little side note that said he had been asleep for seventy years he was healthy as a horse. As nothing was wrong with him he was beginning to grow tired of being locked up.

He had demanded to speak with Fury a few days back, as he could no longer go on pretending that he was okay with the proceedings.

He had been given a small device which he was told was a mobile telephone and through it he had heard the Director's voice. He had been told that it was all for the best and that he would be free to go as soon as they were sure that he would be okay on his own.

Steve had then asked outright if they were trying to duplicate the serum, for what else was he to believe when the tapped him of that much blood?

Fury had assured him that everyone had been discouraged from trying to recreate the serum a few years back, when a try had gone awry and ended in disaster.

He also added with a smirk in his voice that they already possessed samples of his blood from decades back and since they hadn't used that, they wouldn't use the fresh blood either.

Steve had been a bit freaked out at that revelation. He wasn't comfortable with the notion of the government keeping his blood around for that long, but he had backed down and conceded that they perhaps were being honest about not trying to make a serum again. However he was still sceptic as to why he was being locked up, he though that he should be free to go.

Director Fury had only pressed that he had been frozen for more then half a century, and even though things might look alright, feel alright and be seemingly normal, the reality might be something different and they might not know it until some time had passed. Keeping him there was just following protocol.

This afternoon saw Steve hiding away in one of the workout rooms, where he was taking his frustrations out on a boxing bag. Sweat dripped down his face as his hands pounded the bag.

Memories kept playing in his head and no amount of physical exertion seemed to be able to make them go away. Harry had said that they had won the war, however he hadn't said much else.

Steve had naturally been curious, the war had been such a big part of his life for so long and he still hadn't fully realized that it was over, just as he had yet to grasp that more than sixty-five years had passed.

In the little free time he had, Steve had researched all he could about the war, speaking with the Agents, and it had actually been Agent Coulson who provided him with material to read, glad to help his idol. Steve was sure that the ironically older man would have told him anecdotes for hours had he only not been forced to attend to his job.

The truth that the Captain slowly uncovered was a grim one. They may have been victorious in the end, but the cost had been high and a lot had been lost.

Cities had been in ruins, people's lives where in shambles and countless men, women and children had died.

At the time of the war Steve hadn't had a clue about the concentration camps. He had just been a soldier fighting to make sure that his comrades in arms got to see another day. Just doing what he thought was right, in an effort to stop the war.

Things behind the scenes had been a lot uglier then he could have imagined. He thought HYDRA had been bad, with their weapons which beat any other technology available, still that was nothing compared to what humans could do to each other.

What neighbours did to neighbours just because they were accused of something the regime did not approve; a whole people being shipped of to the slaughterhouse because one little man with a big Napoleon complex used them as scapegoats to explain away something that had everything to do with the aftermath of the previous World War. Science used to justify the slaughter of anyone with a disability. It was horrifying and Steve could only pray that his small part in the whole might have made the end possible.

Steve hoped that the world was better now. He had yet to see it so for now he would go out to meet it with the naïve notion of that things might have changed.

He had started to feel a bit disappointed in the man he had regarded as one of his closest friends. Harry hadn't come to see him in these two weeks when he could have used a confidant. Now more than ever before in his life he needed someone to rely on. Someone who could help him understand and who would understand him in turn.

He had hoped and counted on Harry to be that person, yet he had been left alone with the sharks. Harry had always been stubbornly secretive and it was before their last mission together that he had made the man promise that the secrecy would be over with. Now after two weeks of contemplation Steve was feeling like his friend regretted making that promise. Why else would he stay away?

Their one day in New York had been fantastic. Harry had shown him how the city had evolved, pointing out the old familiar landmarks and telling him about the ones he couldn't recognize.

They had not spoken about their shared past, nor about the future, those hours after Steve woke up had been dedicated to trying to make the Captain land in the new era.

As he kept thinking Steve's anger built up, his punches getting harder and then the punching bag was ripped by the seams, the chord breaking off. It landed on the ground with a thump, sand leaking out on the floor. He stood there, panting staring down on the mess he'd made, feeling numb. His breathing evened out and his body begun to cool as he stood there completely motionless.

He felt empty and disappointed. He just didn't know how to proceed. He had understood the war. He was a good solider and a decent Captain, but there was no war, no band of men for him to lead, just a world he didn't understand, full of people who had moved on without him.

Perhaps he shouldn't be so surprised that Harry hadn't shown up. What did a few years when you were a child matter when you had lived for nearly a century?

He picked up another punching bag from the line on the floor and attached it to the hook. Mechanically he started throwing punches at it, allowing the rhythm to fill up his mind. Left-right, left-right.

"I see that you still pack a mean punch."

The voice made Steve stop for a moment, then he continued without turning around, he didn't feel like facing the man who the voice belonged to.

Steve chose to ignored Harry for now, afraid that he would hit his friend instead of the bag if he met his eyes, and though he knew the man could take it, he didn't really want to hit him. Steve was frustrated with the wait, and he thought that it wasn't more then right if the roles could be reversed for a little bit.

Something in his mannerism kept Harry silent, allowing Steve to continue hitting the punching bag. Before long he was panting hard, the new punching bag joining the last on the floor.

The blond stroked away the sweet on his brow and grabbed a bottle of water and he went to sit down on one of the low benches that were spread out along the walls of the hall.

Harry joined him, sitting down quietly next to him. Steve didn't look up, still not certain to how he would react if he met Harry's green gaze.

"I'm sorry." The voice was quiet, hesitant and it struck a chord within Steve. That wasn't the voice of the soldier, or the General. That was the voice of the small kid Steve had defended from his cousin when said cousin tried to drown him in a rain-puddle and he couldn't ignore that boy.

"I'm so sorry. I should have gotten here sooner," the dark-haired man continued.

Steve turned to look at Harry, seeing his shoulder slumped, eyes downcast, arms wrapped protectively around himself, it looked strange considering his muscled frame, but Steve could picture the scrawny nine year old he had met so many years ago.

He felt bad about ignoring his friend now, but regret had never fixed anything. "It's okay," he murmured soothingly, pushing his own anger and disappointment to the back of his mind. This wasn't about him feeling betrayed. At the moment he needed to fix Harry's insecurities.

Even after all this time the feeling of being worthless and a waste of space that his relatives had indoctrinated him with could apparently rise. This reaction showed to Steve that the years they had been friends actually still mattered. They had left traces and he had been a fool to think that Harry would forget.

"You're here now. I whish you could have gotten here sooner, but it doesn't matter."

Harry looked up and his spirit somewhat returned. "It does matter. You finally returned to my life and what do I do? I leave you at the mercy of the scientists. That's not what a brother in arms do."

"As I said, you're here now. You can apologise to me by getting me out of here."

Harry smiled weakly. "It will be easy then, seeing as I came here to bail you out."

"Really?"

"Yeah, or well it's more like a rescue mission being done behind their backs. No one knows I'm here. Fury's going to chew my head off when he finds out. I've set up a room for you at my place. If you want to come that is."

"Are you kidding? Of course I want to come! They have had me as a lab rat for long enough, besides you owe me a story."

"Yeah, I suppose I do." Harry wrung his hands and Steve grabbed them, forcing him to stop.

"Easy", Steve soothed and Harry nodded.

"Right… Though I might not like having to tell you. I honestly try not to think about most of the stuff at all, and it will be hell having to live through it again, but I won't try to get out of it. You if anyone deserve to know the truth, and in a way it will be sort of a relief to finally tell you."

"We'll go slowly. If it is as bad as you imply then I won't press you harder than I have to."

"I appreciate that." Harry rose from the bench, rubbing discretely at his eyes, though Steve noticed. "Come on," the dark-haired man said. "I've secured a way out, though it won't stay that way for long."

"Then why didn't you just say that you were here to get me right away? Why allow me to stew in silence?"

"Because you were right to be angry, and you needed to vent, hitting things seems to do it for you. I get how you must be feeling, I've been in your shoes a number of times and you're taking it way better than I ever did."

"I can imagine."

Harry smiled self-deprecatingly. "I was a nightmare to be around when I was a teen, wasn't I?"

Steve just smiled, knowing better than to say anything.

"I'm so sorry, Steve. It must have seemed as if I abandoned you. That was never my intention. I had planned to come visit you each day until SHIELD had gotten what they needed, which should have been more than a week ago in my opinion. If something happens you can always come back, there's no need for you to be locked up."

"So why didn't you come?"

"Something came up and I had to attend to it. I wished I could have been here for you, but I couldn't and…"

"Stop it! I get it. You would have been here if you could be. I should have known. I suppose I'm just a bit out of it at the moment. The whole 'you've been dead to the world for seventy years' thing got to me."

"Okay, we should stop apologising now, or we'll get caught. I am truly sorry though. All forgiven?"

"All forgiven."


	3. Welcome to My Place

"Hold still for a moment," Harry instructed and brought out a long, pale wooden stick from his shirt sleeve. He tapped it on Steve's arm and the Captain shuddered as the sensation of a raw egg being cracked at the top of his head followed. It felt precisely as if a cold sticky substance was running through his hair down the back of his neck and under his t-shirt.

It wasn't the first time the dark-haired man had done that to him; still it wasn't a pleasant feeling and he doubted that anyone could ever grow to be pleased about it, though you had to appreciate the result.

Steve looked down at his hand and saw it take the appearance of the floor beneath, making him into a human chameleon.

"You okay?" Harry asked after having swirled the stick around himself, leaving him looking like a chameleon himself, it was really odd to see the shape of Harry and at the same time see the wall behind him.

"Yeah, I'm fine," Steve said nodding.

"Good, let's go then. Hold on to my wrist so that we don't get separated."

Steve followed the instruction, grabbing Harry's wrist tightly before he was led out into the corridor beyond the training room. It was empty and as they walked towards the stairwell they didn't run into a single person, something which Steve hadn't experienced during his time in the facility.

"We're going to take the stairs," Harry whispered, the low volume not truly being necessary as they were alone, but caution never hurt anyone. "I think we could get away with using the elevator, but I'd rather not. What I can do doesn't work well with technology and I think it would be slightly more suspicious if the elevator was moving by itself compared to us simply opening a door."

"Alright." Steve had nothing against that plan, it was sound and simple.

It was almost scary how easily Harry was able to lead Steve out of the SHIELD complex. The Captain wasn't sure whether it was due to the people of the organisation being inapt or the unmatched abilities his friend possessed. He hoped that the escape could be credited to his friend, for the other possibility was much too depressing. He didn't want to think about a world where his land's the secret service was completely inapt.

And the truth was that Harry had abilities out over the ordinary, so it was very likely that it could be credited to him. Steve had known for a very long time that his friend was special, and it had to do with more than the superhuman strength and durability they both had acquired thanks to Dr. Erskine.

The blond man had seen Harry do unexplainable things before, even though he had done his best to hide it, it hadn't always been practical to do so and when it came to keeping strange things hidden and getting them out of certain death the choice was easy.

Harry had also become much more liberate with using his abilities towards the end of the war, just take the way he was able to make them act like chameleons for example. From there the promise of an explanation had come. And now Harry wasn't trying to hide what he was doing at all, not that it made much of a difference, Steve still couldn't begin to fathom what it was. In any case it made Steve feel good, as it was proof to him that his friend was being honest about coming clean at last.

When they came down to the main level the area was no longer deserted.

"Damn," Harry swore quietly. "The spell's worn off. I suppose I'll have to do it the hard way then. Just be quiet and stay close."

Steve squeezed Harry's wrist to show that he had acknowledged the order.

What followed was that each time a person blocked their path, Steve would observe how Harry's eyes narrowed, the stick appeared in his hand and then the man or woman would walk away, sometimes at a leisure pace, muttering about coffee, other times the departure was more dramatic.

One memorable instance had been when a man suddenly broke into a sprint, running down the corridor he had been standing in and Steve had clearly heard him mutter in a despairing tone; "I'm never going to make the meeting on time, Romanoff will kill me."

It took some time for them to get to the entrance hall as they had to stop and allow the person to walk off before Harry would allow them to continue. Then before Steve had a chance to truly register what was going on they were by the doors through which Harry had led him through the first day and just as then the area in front of them was crowded with people.

"I won't be able to distract them all, so we'll have to do it the good old fashioned way. If we move quickly we shouldn't be seen and we'll just time it by walking though the doors together with someone. Ready?"

"Yeah."

"Okay we have a target. You see that man who just came around the corner; the tall blond one?" Steve hummed in affirmative, observing a tall man in a black suit. He was walking with measured steps through the hall; talking into a small device, his attention on the conversation.

Steve and Harry were pressed up against the wall right by the door and when the man Harry had pointed out walked passed them, they kept right by his heels, and so they were outside.

Once they were through Steve let go of Harry's hand only to have Harry grab his instead. "I'm keeping the dissolution charm up, better hold on," he said and begun to drag Steve down the street, crisscrossing to keep from running into anyone. How Harry managed not to bump into anyone Steve could only guess.

"We're going to walk to my place. It's not very far." Steve heard Harry's disembodied voice in his left ear and followed the tugging on his wrist.

"Okay," he answered a bit distractedly. He was busy taking in the din. He hadn't seen the outside world in two weeks, and although Harry had given him an extensive tour of the city then, he was far from used to seeing all the people and lights and hearing the ear deafening noise.

Advertisement was something that apparently had exploded since his time. It wasn't enough to plaster the product name in meter tall letters anymore, they also had to flash in blinding neon lights and morph into a film showing of obnoxiously happy people using the product.

New York had always been an international city where you could encounter people and cultures from all over the world, and that had not changed. Steve was rather baffled at some of the outfits he saw, from men in full beards and turbans, to women who had erased the word 'modesty' from their vocabulary and all of them had their hands on one piece of technology or another.

A few blocks from the secret government facility the crowed thinned out and Steve could enjoy simply being outside. It was amazing how much you could appreciate the feeling of sunlight on your face, the breeze against your skin and the blue sky above your head when you'd been locked up for days on end.

As Harry had said they didn't walk very far, not much more then fifteen minutes in any case. They arrived at a tall apartment complex, which made Steve feel a bit uneasy. The place looked expensive, whit a plush red carpet leading up to the door and a lobby where every surface was made of polished stone. Add plants, fountains and a reception to that and the Captain was distinctly uncomfortable.

As soon as they got into the foyer Harry cancelled whatever it was that had made them become human chameleons; which was a large improvement. Steve thought that not being able to see himself was awfully uncanny, no matter how useful.

He looked around the large room, wide-eyed, but Harry proceeded to one of the elevators at the end of the hall, without giving the splendour a second glance. Steve had no other choice but to follow.

The ride up to the 48th floor was quiet; still it was a companionable silence. From the elevator they stepped right into Harry's apartment.

Harry walked in, turned around and spread his arms in a theatrical gesture. "Welcome to my place!"

Steve stood by the elevator doors feeling slightly awkward. He was still sweaty; wearing his workout clothes, nothing that fitted in this environment of luxury and class. Yet he thought it had a homey feel to it.

The colours were soft, he could see that an abundance of daylight made it in through what must be many windows and fabric was a large part of the décor. Something that also made him feel more at ease was the lack of any modern appliances as far as he could see. It almost felt like coming home, like no time had passed after all. It made him nostalgic and he wished that it had been as he first thought, meaning that he wished only a month had passed since the plane-crash.

Harry took in the mixed feelings on his face and chuckled lightly. "Like stepping back through time, am I right?"

Steve nodded, walking farther inside, touching a black and white photograph that hung right by the entrance. It was a picture of him, Harry and Bucky taken in Italy just after he had launched the rescue mission.

Harry cleared his throat regaining Steve's attention. "It's a good picture," he said.

"Yeah, it is." They were smiling in the picture. They were roughed up but filled with triumph.

"Do you remember that Howard took it?"

Steve hummed, thinking back. Harry allowed him a moment to remember before he continued talking.

"He was the one who hung it there, knowing that I'd like to see my friends first thing every time I got home. Anyway, I got this place right after the war and I haven't changed it much since and it was Howard who chose most of the stuff for me as interior decoration have never been my strong suit, there off all the grandeur. You know; all the thick carpets, elaborate doorframes, marble and what not. Howard insisted that I'd have the best of the best. It makes even me feel uneasy at times and this is supposed to be my home." He smiled. "Modest is not something you would describe Howard as, right?"

"Not the first word that comes to mind, no," Steve said agreeing.

"Well, as you know he came from a simple background, just like us, his fortune was earned and he himself didn't feel all that comfortable in environments such as this, but he felt like he could go all out when it wasn't him who would have to live here." Harry shook his head in a fond way, then he exhaled slowly.

"In reality it doesn't feel like much of a home. I haven't been living here much. After the war I was mostly needed elsewhere, and then I choose to settle down in England. I took up residence again after SHIELD tracked me down a few years ago, and sine then I've been out in the field a lot, leaving me with little time to spend here."

"Right. Well, you've done well for yourself," Steve commented lightly.

"I suppose I have. Money hasn't been an issue for me since I left school, it was simply crazy how much money I had inherited and the investments I've done since then have paid off."

"Oh."

"There's no need to be jealous, let me tell you. Your accounts are still yours and what you had in them has multiplied several times, I and Howard made sure of it."

"That's… thank you."

"No need to thank me, mate. It was done for a very selfish reason, so I can't really accept your gratitude."

"Harry…" Steve admonished but he stopped when he received a hard glance.

"It was our way of keeping the hope alive. You have no idea how guilty I felt, knowing that I'd left you in that plane; knowing that I left that responsibility on your shoulders. If I had stayed onboard with you, maybe we would have been fine, both of us."

The blond man wrung his hands awkwardly. He wanted to comfort his friend so badly, and it hurt that it wouldn't be welcomed at the moment.

"So many 'what if's', have haunted me as I've tried to sleep," Harry continued. "What if I had just summoned Grindelwald back onboard and ignored the cube? What if I had allowed him to get away? What if I had been faster? Could I have gotten to you in time then? Trying to find you was the only thing that kept the guilt at bay." Harry sighed.

The silence that followed these words was heavy with feelings, and the feelings were not especially pleasant ones. Steve was about to say something, but Harry was faster.

"Now I'm being a bad host. I have a few things I need to take care of and I'm guessing that you wouldn't mind a shower."

"Harry, we need to talk about this."

"I know. Just… later. We'll talk about everything later. I swear on my honour. But this isn't a conversation to be had standing in a hallway. Now, shower?"

"Fine, I suppose a shower wouldn't be all that bad," Steve conceded looking down at this sweat streaked t-shirt.

"Thought so. Come on, I'll show you to your room."

Harry led Steve down the hallway into another intersecting one and opened the last door to the right hand side.

The room was a lot less elaborate then what Steve had seen of the apartment so far, which he appreciated, but it was still grand. A large four-poster bed, with a deep blue spread was the centrepiece of the room. There were also a desk and a wardrobe in a dark, reddish wood. Ceiling to floor windows took up one of the walls; on the other side of the glass was a large terrace, with an abundance of greenery, which could trick you into thinking that it was summer rather than early March.

The room had a door which led outside, it was open and the spring air wafted into the room, bringing with it the muffled sounds of the street far bellow.

"The benefit of living at the top is that you get a garden," Harry said as he saw where Steve had been looking. "Anyway, the bathroom is right through there." He pointed at a door. "I stocked the closet with everything you should need. You go ahead and shower, I'll fix us something to eat, so when you're done just follow your nose, okay?"

"Alright." The green-eyed man turned to leave. "Harry," Steve called out before he could get far.

"What?"

"Just… Thank you, for getting me out of there, for taking me in, for promising to tell me everything."

"You're welcome, mate. On the first two accounts it's my pleasure. On the last one…" he paused, his face taking on a grim expression. "Let's just hope we can make it through without either of us breaking down."

-«¤»-

They ate the meal Harry had cooked for them keeping to light topics as they did so. Topics that left both of them unmoved weren't the easiest ones to find but they made due by speaking of training exercises, Steve's drawings and a few books that they had both read.

In the end they sat in silence Harry stalling by filling his glass again and Steve hesitant about what to ask first.

"I'll just say it." Steve looked up from his cutlery at Harry's words and their eyes locked. "I am a wizard. Magic is real."

Steve stayed mute. Okay, he could handle that. The technology that he had seen used over the passed days were so incredible that it might as well have been magic, so why not the magic of legends?

"So that's how you did it all? By using...  _magic_?"

"Basically."

"How does it work?"

Harry smiled bemusedly as if he'd never given it a thought. "I have honestly no idea. You might as well ask me how we are alive."

"Oh."

"How about I put on a magic-show? Just to get us started?"

"Sure."

"Let's move to the sitting room first, we'll be more comfortable there, and I'm sure you'll have a lot of questions."

"Alright." Steve got up and made to clear off the dishes.

"Leave it. Soofey will take care off that. She's already upset with me for making dinner. She'll never forgive me if I allow a house guest to do any work."

"Who's Soofey?"

"What cans Soofey be doing for good Master Harry and Master's guest?" a small creature with floppy, bat-like ears, huge, round eyes and a long pointy nose had appeared out of nowhere with a small pop.

Steve dropped the plate he had been holding. Before it could crash to the floor the creature snapped its fingers and instead of plummeting, the dish flew to the sink where it was joined momentarily by the rest of the used china.

"Soofey apologizes for scaring Master Harry's guest," the creature, Soofey, said. It had a very high squeaky voice and the blond Captain couldn't help but stare. It was dressed in what could only be a cream coloured pillow case and it wore thick red socks on its feet. All in all it was a strange sight.

"That's... That's alright," he mumbled incoherently.

"Soofey, this is my friend Steve Rogers. He'll be staying with us for a while. Help him with anything he needs. Steve, this is Soofey my house elf."

Steve shook his head to clear it, his long dead mother's voice admonishing him in his head, telling him that it wasn't polite to stare.

"Pleased to meet you, Soofey," he said, at a loss for what else to do.

"Oh, Master Harry's friend Roger is so kind. He must be a great man to speak so nicely to a lowly house elf like Soofey."

"I-I…" Steve stammered uncharacteristically. He was way out of his depth here. He had just been told that magic was real, which wasn't as big of a surprise as it ought to have been, he'd seen too much strange stuff in his life, but this creature, this house elf was something he had been completely unprepared for.

"Thank you Soofey," Harry said to the elf. "I'll call for you if I need anything. As always."

"Of course, good Master Harry."

"Steve, you're catching flies."

"Huh?"

Harry smirked and walked out of the kitchen without another word. The blond caught on to what his friend had said and closed his mouth, following.

They sat down on a plush couch in front of an empty fire place, Harry still smirking and Steve still extremely confused.

"What is a house elf?" he settled on asking after a moment of silence.

"A house elf is a magical being that is bound to a wizarding family and lives to serve them, doing the cleaning and cooking and stuff like that. It might look like slavery and indoctrination at a first glance, but it's a symbiotic relation which both parties benefits from."

"Okay. That sounds alright, I guess. So what other magical beings are there? Is everything from the stories we read as kids true? Are there dragons and unicorns and griffins?"

Harry smiled. "Not all creatures from mythology are real, but there are more than enough other ones to make up for it. Dragons and unicorns are real. I've seen unicorns several times and I've fought a dragon, seen one hatch, and flown on a one."

Steve's mouth was once again a perfect fly capturing device. "You've flown on a dragon? Hold on. You've fought a dragon?"

"Well, not so much fought as having to get past one. She was a nesting mother; a Hungarian Horntail. One of the meanest dragons out there, and they aren't any more benevolent when protecting their eggs."

"I… that must have been scary."

"Yes, I was terrified. I was only fourteen when I did this."

"You were still in school when you had to… fight a dragon? What? Why would you have to do that? Is this what they had you do in that tournament you told me about?"

Steve thought that it was outrageous and he was beginning to get angry on his friend's behalf, he had known that Harry was forced to compete in some tournament between several schools, but he had had no idea what those tasks actually was. He had imagined that they might have to do athletic challenges, or having to solve academic puzzles. Fighting a real, live dragon had obviously not crossed his mind as a possibility.

"Hmm," Harry said with a bleak smile. "I think it might just be better if I start from the beginning. You know a bit about my schooldays and about the war, but I obviously kept all the magical details from you. This isn't a fun story, and I've tried to forget about many parts of it, so I'll need you to be there for me as I tell you, okay?"

"Yeah, of course, that's the least I can do, Harry."

The promised magic-show was forgotten for now.

"Thanks mate. Okay..." Harry drew in an audible breath through his nose. "It started like this..."


	4. Normal is Underrated

Petunia Dursley wanted one thing in life. Petunia wanted to be normal. For that to become true it was her unwavering belief that she had to leave her childhood home in England. Only then would she be free of her younger sister Lily and all the weirdness that she attracted.

How their parents could be so thrilled about Lily's unnatural abilities Petunia would never understand. Taking one look at that awful boy who lived next door, who possessed the ability do the same things, was all the convincing the young Petunia had needed. She was the only one who saw Lily for what she truly was; a freak.

The rest of the world thought that the Evans' younger daughter was perfect, and in many ways she was. Lily was kind, intelligent and very pretty with her deep red hair and emerald eyes.

Blond, horse-faced Petunia could never measure up to that, but she was ambitious in her own right. She had a vision of how she wanted her life to be and she would do whatever it took to get there, even when it meant breaking the norms of the time to get an education which would lead to a well paid job.

She needed the money for she was certain that the perfect life waited for her on the other side of the Atlantic. She would book a ride on one of the ocean steamers and start anew in the United States of America.

It was always said that anything was possible in America and Petunia believed that only there could her ambition be realized. That she would get to escape the war that was raging in Europe was only a bonus.

Her family was relatively wealthy, but she would never use her parents' money for this. This was something she needed to accomplish on her own.

She held no qualms about using their connections to get into her education of choice, though. The education she entered was humble enough; it would teach her everything she needed to know to work professionally as a secretary.

Petunia worked hard and diligently; finished her education after which she worked as a secretary in London for about a year and then she had been ready; ready to leave Great Britain behind, never to look back.

Her ambitions were realized much sooner then she could have hoped for. As she worked once again as a secretary, this time in a fancy New York Office, she met Vernon Dursley.

At a first glance there was nothing about Vernon that would draw the attention of a young woman like Petunia.

Vernon was a large, bulky man, with nearly no neck, dark hair and a thick moustache that could lead your thoughts to a walrus. Like the rest of the men who came into the office, he wore a well-cut suit. There was nothing to set him apart from the rest. It was when they started talking that Petunia became interested.

Vernon was from England just like she and he too had believed in the land of opportunities. He had been determined to make more of himself and as far as he had seen that wasn't possible in England. It had also been his chance to avoid enlistment and military service.

Vernon wouldn't have minded serving his country in a time of peace, but he didn't want to die and in the trenches of mainland Europe, getting killed was the least of your worries.

What drew Petunia to Vernon Dursley was that he shared her ambition. They both craved the normalcy of everyday life. They wanted nothing more and nothing less then what was ordinary, understandable and safe.

It wasn't long before they were married and settled down in a respectable townhouse in Brooklyn. Vernon got promoted at the office and Petunia could leave her job to become a housewife. The life they'd always wanted was within in their grasp.

They soon had a son who they named Dudley, and according to the Dursleys there was no finer boy anywhere.

Everything was ordinary. Life was well.

-«¤»-

When Mr. Dursley got up in the morning everything was as usual. He got his clothes on, went downstairs where he grabbed his briefcase in one of his meaty hands. He passed through the kitchen to tell Mrs. Dursley goodbye. He pecked her bony cheek and dodged a spoonful of food, which Dudley had tossed across the kitchen as he was throwing a tantrum. Mr. Dursley chuckled good-naturedly at his son and was off.

As he left his home at number 124 Midwood Street, near Prospect Park, to drive his car to work, there was nothing about the gray November sky that indicated that their lives were about to be turned upside down. There was no warning to be had. Well, maybe there was one…

When Mr. Dursley drove down the street and stopped at the crossing to turn out from Midwood Street, he caught sight of a tabby cat. The cat sat on a low wall and it was reading a map.

Mr. Dursley let go of the steering-wheel and rubbed at his eyes with his meaty fists. When he looked again the map was gone, if there had been a map at all that is. Mr. Dursley hoped that he was seeing things, and that was a very strange thing for him to hope as he did not approve of any such nonsense.

The cat was now reading the sign that said Midwood Street. No. No of course it wasn't. It was looking at the sign, for cats can't read.

He forgot all about the cat as soon as he'd left the street. His morning was completely normal. He yelled at a few people. Took care of an important costumer, did some paperwork and yelled a bit more.

There were no more signs that unusual things were about to start happening in his life until lunch time, when Mr. Dursley sat down to take what he thought to be a well deserved break by reading the day's newspaper.

There was nothing special to be said this day in the national pages. The sport pages were also rather dull, as where the entertainment pages; it seemed to be a low news day.

Then Mr. Dursley reached the section for international news and it was here things got odd. A small article drew his attention as it was about Britain.

Mr. Dursley may have left his birth country behind, but he was still interested to see what was going on in the nation he had once called home.

_**Strange Happenings in the UK** _

_Since the 1_ _st_ _of November the people of Britain have been baffled by a series of unexplainable and strange events._

_It starts with something seemingly ordinary as birds, or more specifically owls._

_Owls are nocturnal, solitary birds of prey, which are rarely sighted as they keep out of populous areas and move around mostly during the night hours._

_This changed the 1_ _st_ _of November of this year. Flocks as strong as a thousand owls have been seen soaring over central London in the middle of the day._

_The worlds leading ornithologists are just as astounded by this behaviour as the regular English citizens. They have no explanation for why the owls of Britain have suddenly taken to hunting in groups during the light hours of the day._

" _They are saying 'hunting'", said the American ornithologist Frank Chapman (author of Bird Life, Birds of Eastern North America, Bird Studies With a Camera, and Life in an Air Castle. For his work, Distribution of Bird-life in Colombia, he was awarded the Daniel Giraud Elliot Medal from the National Academy of Sciences in 1917)._

" _The truth is that not a single observation has been made of these owls hunting. Frankly I'd say that their hunting pattern hasn't changed at all. It is my belief that they are still hunting at night. What they are doing over heavily populated areas during the day? Well, my guess is as good as yours."_

_It has now been a week since this behaviour pattern first started, and it seems like the owls are slowly going back to behaving like normal._

_The second thing that had people looking up into the sky with wonder was a rain of star-falls that started on the night of the 1st November and progressed well until the 5th. None of the leading astronomers had observed that the earth would pass through an area of space which could lead to this phenomenon._

_What makes it more noteworthy is that it could only bee seen in a very small region which is highly unusual. It was the people in the county of Kent in southern England who could enjoy the spectacular light show._

_The third and final event is a bit more down to earth. In all the larger cities across the British Isles, there has been frantic activity among a group of people. And no one seems to know who they are._

_What connects them all; is their clothing. These people of all ages and ethnicities, as well as both sexes have been seen wearing long robes in many colours and high pointy hats appear to be their preferred headwear._

_People dressed like this have been seen standing together on streets and in alleys, talking in whispers or in high animated voices._

_As of yet it is unknown who they are and what they want. Speculations reigns from them being the followers of a new religious sect, to a radical political party, to the British answer to the America's Amish._

_Any government officials who have approached the crowds have left without even remembering why they went to question the people in the first place._

_If these events are connected by something larger or just by coincidences, remains to be seen._

Mr. Dursley stared at the page long after he had read the last line. He didn't like it one bit, for it made him think about his wife's sister. From what little Petunia had told him about her younger sister he could understand why she was so reluctant to talk about it.

He had actually met the woman and her husband one time. What was his name? Potter. Yes, that was it. It had been over two years since he'd even thought about his wife's sister and her family.

The freakishness that infected both Potter and Petunia's sister were reason enough for the Dursleys to want to stay as far away as possible, and it was easy when there was an ocean between them.

He hadn't liked the man, when he'd met him. Mr. Dursley had asked what car he drove and he went on about something called racing brooms which Mr. Dursley did not care to understand.

He had guessed that Mr. Potter couldn't be very wealthy if he didn't drove a car and he had asked how it worked in  _their world_ when it came to taken care of those who are unemployed.

Potter had jumped up asking how he thought that their tickets and hotel room had been paid, and then he had stormed off in a huff dragging his fiancée with him.

That Mr. Dursley had at all met the Potters was because they had been invited to their wedding.

Petunia hadn't wanted to attend, and he hadn't been keen on it himself, but when they were given first class tickets on one of the more luxurious ocean steamers they hadn't been able to refuse.

The first meeting had been at a restaurant a few days before the wedding and after the dinner fiasco they had simply stayed at their hotel, both of them regretting dearly that they had come back to England in the first place.

No, they were much better off with the Atlantic separating them. Mr. Dursley's opinion was that the farther away the better, especially since the Potters had a son who was about Dudley's age; he and Petunia didn't want their precious boy to associate with that  _sort_.

Now Mr. Dursley's lunch break had come to an end and as he put away the paper he forgot all about the strange things that had happened in the land he had been born in and how it had made him think of the Potters. Out of sight, out of mind as the saying goes.

-«¤»-

The tabby Mr. Dursley had seen in the morning was sitting on the wall outside number 124 Midwood Street when he got home. He only cast a glance at it, before he went inside.

When the sun had set and the windows in all the houses along the street had gone dark the cat was still there. In fact, it hadn't moved at all.

It didn't move until something peculiar happened. One by one the streetlights went out and a man emerged from the darkness. The man was just as strange as the event which had preceded him. He was tall, wore long robes of some indistinct dark colour, a cloak and upon his head sat a pointy hat. His hair was long and his face was covered by a thick, neatly cropped beard. What little light there was reflected off the half-moon shaped spectacles that sat low on his rather long, crooked nose.

He chuckled when he caught sight of the cat. He walked up to the wall slowly and sat down on the wall next to the feline. "Fancy seeing you here, Professor McGonagall," he mumbled, his eyes twinkling behind the glasses.

If you had blinked you would have missed the staggering transformation. One moment it was the cat with the square markings around its eyes that was sitting on the wall, in the next the cat had been replaced by a woman. The woman wore glasses the same shape as the markings around the cat's eyes. She was dressed similarly to the man, in a cloak over a robe and with a pointed hat on the top of her head. The woman's mouth was pressed into a stern line as she glared at the man.

"How did you know it was me?"

"My dear Professor, I've never seen a cat sit quite so stiffly."

"You would have been stiff to if you had been sitting on a brick wall all day. I've been watching this family, Albus. These people are the worst sort of muggles imaginable and their son is just as bad," she began in a disapproving tone. "Lily and James would not want Harry here and I would have to agree. Why can't the boy be given to a respectable wizarding family?"

The man sighed. "I will confess that this is not a decision I've made lightly. I'm afraid that Petunia Dursley will never overcome her dislike of magic or her sister."

"Then why? Why leave the boy here?"

"Because Voldemort isn't…" the woman flinched visibly when she heard the name "…yes, isn't, for I know that he is not completely gone. What I'm saying is that Voldemort isn't the only wizard who would wish harm upon Harry."

"If you are talking about the death eaters..."

"Ah, but that is the thing, that's not all I'm talking about. If Death Eaters were the only threat I would gladly have kept the boy in England."

"Albus, what are you keeping to yourself now?"

"Harry will be safe here. Lily sacrificed herself for Harry and in doing that she gave him a very strong protection; one that I am able to amplify, but it requires that Harry views a residence where someone of Lily's blood lives as home."

"Are there no other options?"

"None that leads me to believe, that Harry will live to see his tenth birthday. It will be good for him to grow up in the muggle world. Away from everything; it's not right for a child to be hailed like a hero for something he will have no memory of; a celebrity before he can walk or talk. This is not an ideal option, but it is my belief that it is the best."

The woman exhaled and her glare intensified. "If I ever learn that these muggles are mistreating the boy, there is no place on earth where you can hide from my wrath."

The man was unaffected by the threat judging by his smile. "Admirable loyalty, Minerva. I will not forget."

"So where is the Harry?"

"Hagrid's bringing him."

The woman pierced her companion with an intensive stare. "Do you really think it wise to entrust something so important to Hagrid?"

"I trust him with my life, and I'm sure he can use the port key I provided him with."

"Hmm, I can't deny that his heart is in the right place, but you have to agree that he can be a bit careless at times. Still he should be able to use a Portkey, I suppose," she grudgingly admitted.

The man fished up a small bag and an even smaller device from one of his pockets. The bag was ignored for now in favour of the device.

The device looked to be a golden pocket watch, but it wasn't of the normal variety. It had no less then twelve arms, but no numbers; instead miniature celestial bodies were moving around the rim. Though it looked nothing like something you could read the time from, the man obviously could.

"Hagrid should be getting here in two minutes." He pocketed the watch and turned his attention to the bag. "Would you care for a sherbet lemon?"

"A what?" the woman asked sharply.

"A sherbet lemon. It's a sort of muggle candy that I've grown very fond of."

"No thank you," she said crisply and her lips grew thinner.

The man picked up a small yellow piece of candy from the bag and popped it into his mouth.

They sat watching the empty street without talking, the silence occasionally interrupted as the man sucked on the candy, his lips making a smacking sound.

They waited for Harry and Hagrid to appear, and appear they did. A swirl of colours materialized some fifteen feet from where the man and woman stood. The swirl solidified until a huge man was standing there.

He was much larger then what should be allowed. He stood almost twice as tall as a normal man and surely five times as wide. With hands like dustbin lids, boots the size of baby dolphins, a shaggy black beard and tangles of bushy hair that covering most of his face, the man was an intimidating sight.

The terrifying impression was somewhat taken away by the fact that he was holding a bundle of blankets securely in his strong arms.

"Profess'r Dumbledore, sir. Profess'r McGonagall," the gigantic man rumbled.

"Good evening Hagrid. I trust that there were no problems?" the man in the pointy hat greeted.

"No, sir. Little Harry fell asleep as we waited for the Por'key to get us here and even the Por'key didn't rouse him, must have been tired the little tyke."

Professor Dumbledore and Professor McGonagall leaned forward to look at the bundle in Hagrid's arms. Inside the blanket, just visible, was the face of a baby boy. He was fast asleep.

Under the few locks of jet black hair that rested on the boy's forehead you could see an angry red scar in the shape of a lightning bolt. Although it had been about a week since the child had gotten the scar, it looked as fresh as if it had just been carved in his ivory skin.

"Well, then, if you would give him here, Hagrid, we can get this over with."

Dumbledore took the bundle from the large man and turned towards number 124. He walked up the short stone path to the door and placed little Harry on the door step. He took out an envelope from his cloak and tucked it among the blankets.

"Good luck, Harry," he whispered solemnly before he came back to the others. Hagrid was shaking with silent sobs and brought out a large spotted handkerchief in which he blew his nose audibly.

McGonagall, looked disapprovingly at the gigantic man, but the edge was taken off her normally stern look by the glistening of unshed tears in her eyes.

"I'll miss having him around," Hagrid mumbled in a muffled voice.

"So will I. He is a very well mannered boy," said the woman. "Albus, I hold fast to my opinion that it would be better if he stayed at Hogwarts if you won't allow a good wizarding family to take him in."

"And I'll say it again; he will be safe here for when it is time for him to return. Now we mustn't linger here any longer. We can all take my Portkey."

The man took out a small object from within one of his many pockets. It appeared to be a cigarette-lighter made of silver. He clicked it once and suddenly a dozen balls of light speed back to the street lamps so that Midwood Street once again was bathing in dim, yellow light.

He put back the 'Put-Outer', and brought out the bag of sherbet lemons again. He dug around in the bag for a moment and when he took out his hand he was holding one of the small candies between his thumb and index finger.

"You enchanted one of your candies and then you offered me one?" McGonagall asked indignantly.

"Oh, don't think so little of me. This one is not the same colour."

The woman peered closer at the small yellow thing and couldn't see any difference from the one Dumbledore had eaten earlier.

"Now if you would both hold on to it and we shall be in Hogsmeade in a snap."

Hagrid and McGonagall placed a finger each on the piece of candy.

"Blood pop," the man said. As soon as the word was said, the trio disappeared from the street in a swirl of colour just like the one the large man had appeared with.

The street was left deserted. The neighbourhood with its rows of identical houses looked normal under the inky sky.

Harry rolled over in his blankets without waking up, his dreams were calm, for he did not remember the night a week ago which had put him on the path he was no headed, and he did not know what his future would hold. He did not know that he was famous or that he would be abruptly woken in a few hours by a shriek as Mrs. Dursley noticed him when she went to put out the milk bottles.

For a few more hours, the residents at number 124 Midwood Street retained their perfect life. For a few more hours they all slept peacefully.


	5. Kids in Brooklyn

It was raining. Not that there was anything special about it. It always rained a lot in April. Large, cold drops fell from a gray sky; drumming in an unforgiving rhythm against rooftops and cobblestones alike, forming large murky puddles on the ground.

This was a day when everyone who could, chose to stay inside; which made it strange to say that one small boy was trudging down the street.

His shoulders where hunched as he tried to ward off the falling rain. His jacked was drenched and his blond hair had turned a shade darker because of the water. It laid slick against his scalp, water dripping from his fringe into his eyes with every step he took.

Steve, for that was the boy's name, tried to not let the rain bother him, thinking about more positive things instead. It wasn't windy and it was rather warm for the time of year, so he wouldn't freeze as long as he kept moving; all in all it really wasn't that bad.

Steve was rather small for a nine year old, which was something the other kids at the orphanage where he lived liked to take advantage of.

He was the perfect victim; small and weak making him unable to fight back, yet he was always standing up for himself, something that made picking on him extra fun.

Some would say that the smarter thing would be to run away, but for Steve that wasn't an option. Both he and his tormentors knew that he could never get away. After a few short minutes he would start wheezing as his asthma caught up with him and then it was only a matter of time before his pursuers would get to him.

After trying to run away who knows how many times, Steve had simply understood that trying to run would only make things worse. Whenever the race ended the others would be angrier then they had been in the beginning. He had learned that it would hurt more if he got caught after trying to get away comparing to simply taking the beating.

And some would say that he should just stop standing up for himself, that if he stopped drawing the unwanted attention he would be left alone.

"If you don't play along, the bullies will grow bored and stop," they would say. Steve however couldn't with good conscience do that. He knew in his bones that standing up to those he thought did wrong was the right thing to do and besides; a few punches was nothing he couldn't handle.

Still there was no sense in actively looking for a fight. When the weather was bad as it was today, staying indoors was a hazard for the small, blond boy. That was what came from all the children being confined in a too small space; it bred unrest and would lead to the others taking out their frustration on whatever and whoever they could. It was far better to brave the elements then to provide entertainment in the form of displaying himself as a human punching bag. Steve preferred to be outside overall so going outside wasn't a sacrifice.

The caretakers at the orphanage didn't like that he strayed, as it could be dangerous for a small child to wander alone on the streets of New York. What he thought about that was that it was dangerous to be around his peers as well, so in his opinion it didn't really matter which he did. Getting beaten up by someone his age or a grown up, what difference did it really make?

Naturally, he knew that grown ups were a lot more dangerous, but this was how he justified his outings to himself.

The sharp drumming of water against stone ceased as Steve walked into Prospect Park which lay a fifteen minute walk from the orphanage. Instead of the sharp prattle, you could hear a quiet sizzling as the drops filtered down through the canopy of the trees, hitting the soft, grass-covered ground beneath.

Steve had been trudging aimlessly through the park for an hour or so before anything interesting happened.

He had time; no one would miss him until dinner-time, so he just tried to pass the time, walking by the lake, watching the pattern the falling drops made as they hit the surface, rings going into rings, blending out into nothingness only to be replaced by new ripples.

He wished he had his sketchbook with him, but he had refrained from bringing it as he didn't want it to get wet. Steve loved to draw. He wasn't all that good at it, but he had time to get better, and to be honest he was good compared to other kids his age.

What he loved about drawing was that you could capture the world with just a few strokes of a pencil. He wasn't interested in creating images that showed the world exactly as it looked, you had cameras to do that these days; no he wanted to capture the real people, the real events behind the facades; the emotions and underlying mysteries of life, the joy and the sorrow alike.

The rain had let up somewhat over the last hour, turning from a downpour to more of a steady drizzle. The interesting thing was initiated with Steve nearly being knocked down as a kid ran into him.

A small, dark-haired boy with glasses, righted himself before he stepped passed Steve and rushed on, calling out a quick; "Sorry!" over his shoulder. Then he was gone again, disappearing into a grove of trees.

Half a moment later a group of three boys followed. They paid no mind to Steve who was rubbing his shoulder; they just hurried after the first boy. Steve found that his curiosity was peaked and he followed them, picking up a brisk pace to keep up.

He walked through the trees, slipping on slick roots and scraping his hand against the trunk of a tree as he caught himself from falling face first into a rock. He tried to move quickly; not wanting to lose the group he was following.

Coming out on the other side of the small grove he became witness to a scene which made his blood boil with anger. The pursuing boys had formed a circle around the bespectacled one.

A large blond boy took the lead, punching the smaller one in the chest with both his hands so that he fell down, landing in a large water puddle. They laughed cruelly.

"Liking the rain, Potter?" the large blond one taunted. "Should remind you of England, where you belong. Oh, never mind, they threw you out, didn't they?"

"Shut up, Dudley!" the boy on the ground spluttered, but there was no heat in his voice.

"How did you get up on that roof, huh?"

"I don't know! It must have been the wind!" he said desperately.

"Right… and what about Mr. Thomas' hair? What did you do?"

"I don't know! It just happened!"

"Just you wait till dad hears about this! You won't get any food for a week!"

"No…" he said brokenly.

"What was that? I couldn't hear you."

As Steve watched the boy on the ground tensed his jaw, a fierce expression replacing the despairing look he had had thus far. "Is that supposed to frighten me, Ickle Diddykins?" he said scathingly.

"Don't call me that, you little freak!"

The large blond boy, who actually resembled a pig in a wig more than a human boy, bent down and took a tight grip on the collar the smaller boy was wearing. Steve noted that the jacket must be many sizes to large for him.

"Get him, Dudley!" one of the other boys cheered.

Dudley turned the small boy over and pressed his face down into the rain puddle, holding it there. Steve was horrified. He could see the flailing arms of the boy. He was going to drown, in a puddle. These boys were seriously going to drown another kid!

Steve knew how it was to be taunted. How many times had he wished that someone would save him? That someone would stand up for him? He had never felt so angry before and that gave him courage. This boy would be saved and he was the one who was going to do it.

"Stop!" he shouted, and Dudley let go, perhaps in surprise, allowing the drenched boy to emerge from the water, drawing in deep, shuddering breaths.

"And why should I?" he drawled.

"Because." Steve said sticking out his chin and balling his fists.

"Because?"

"Because I said so."

Steve knew that he wasn't an impressive sight. He was just as small as the boy they had been tormenting, if not smaller, but he thought he was older then them, or at least the same age so he wasn't going to let them scare him, he'd stood up to meaner, larger boys than them.

"And who are you?" The blond boy walked up to Steve, towering over him, with his bulky body.

"Steven Rogers."

Dudley looked at Steve's clothes and he was unimpressed for they were old and worn, fit only to be used as rags. Dudley tried to smirk, not that he knew how to do it, so it came out as more of an ugly smile. However the mien served its purpose, it allowed Steve to know that Dudley knew he was no opposition.

"Well, Rogers," Dudley said, "how about you join Harry for a bath, if you like the freak so much?"

Before he could do as much as yelp, Steve was grabbed and thrown into the puddle. He fell into the water with a large splash, water raining down on him and the dark-haired boy who had been identified as Harry.

He scrambled out of the water, and if he thought his clothes had been wet before it was nothing against how they were now. He brushed away his hair from his eyes and glared up at the gang.

They laughed. "What a lovely sight," Dudley said, "two little brats together in the mud."

"Haven't you done enough? Shouldn't you get home to mummy so that she can stuff you full of food, we wouldn't want you to waste away all of a sudden, would we?" Harry sneered.

"I don't think there's any risk of that." Steve muttered.

Dudley glared down at them, although he didn't succeed much with this expression either, it was just a narrowing of his watery, blue eyes. "Whatever. I've had it with you. Come on, guys we're leaving." The three boys left, already having forgot Harry and Steve.

Steve shivered a bit. He hadn't felt cold before when the rain had drenched him, but now he was freezing. He looked to his side and watched the other kid. He was also shivering, much more violently then he himself was. He had taken off his glasses and held the frames in his shaking hands.

"Are you okay?" Steve asked gently.

"I suppose." Harry looked up and Steve could see that his eyes were a bright green colour. "Thank you." Steve noted that he had some sort of mild dialect, thinking about it the blond kid, Dudley had spoken the same way.

"I just did what anyone would do," he said.

"No." Harry shook his head. "No one has ever stood up for me before. People who see it just turn their heads away. They like to pretend that it's not happening. It was really brave of you to do so, being all…" He made a vague gesture with his hand towards Steve who frowned when he understood what was being alluded to.

"You aren't that muscular yourself."

The dark-haired boy chuckled weakly. "No, I'm not, so I would know that it takes some guts to stand up to a human, baby killer-whale."

"Baby killer whale?" Steve questioned, a smile tugging at his lips.

"Yeah, that would be Dudley. Anyway, thank you."

Steve sighed. "You're welcome. Not that it was of much use was it? I just ended up getting drenched as well."

"It was of use," the green eyed boy muttered. "You've given me hope."

An awkward silence followed that statement. Harry felt like he'd been a bit mushy and Steve was embarrassed, yet happy. It gave him a warm feeling in his gut that he'd been able to make a difference, no matter how small it might be in the bigger picture. The important part was that for to this boy beside him it did matter.

"Why were they bothering you anyway?" Steve eventually asked.

"Dudley he... he is my cousin although no one would ever guess it," Harry answered. "We don't look anything alike and from how he treats me one could never know. But it's not completely his fault, I suppose. His parents don't like me either and they encourage him," murmured Harry with wisdom beyond his years.

"Getting hit by him and Pierce Polkiss and whoever else they manage to recruit is nothing unusual. They even have a name for it; Harry hunting."

"That's awful," Steve said, feeling appalled. He thought he had it bad at times, but this just sounded sad. He thought that relatives should take care of each other. They should look out for one another, not… this.

"Maybe." Harry shrugged.

"Why do you have to put up with that?"

Steve knew that his own mother would have done anything to help him had she still been alive, she wouldn't have been able to always look out for him, but he knew that she would have made sure that he made friends. He couldn't imagine any parent not wanting to protect Harry, as far as he had seen he was very polite and kind. Not at all deserving of how his cousin was treating him.

"Why aren't your parents putting a stop to it? If you just talked to them, they could talk to Dudley's parents and…"

"They're dead," Harry interrupted and Steve stiffened. That was one more thing they had in common; the small stature, others picking on them and… no parents.

"I've been living with my aunt and uncle since I was barely more than a year old. They've told me that my parents died in a car crash, my dad …" he left the words hanging his pale cheeks reddening in embarrassment.

"What about your father?"

Harry brushed his hands through his dark hair which was really messy. Steve idly noted that it was sticking up in every direction even though it was completely drenched, with slightly muddy water dripping from the tips.

"I don't want to believe what my uncle said. I don't know if it's true. I don't want it to be…"

"It can't be that bad?"

"Yes it can," Harry murmured looking down at his hands, fingering his glasses which were covered in mud. "They've told me that my father drove drunk and got them killed."

"Oh…" Steve understood that it must hurt. He might not have his parents, but he had memories of his mother, and stories about his father to look back on. He at least knew that they had been good people. "Maybe it's not true," he said trying to sound positive.

He was rewarded with a slight smile from Harry. "Maybe," he repeated. "Anyway, Aunt Petunia took me in, though in don't know why. She has made it clear to me that she would get rid of me if she could. She never speaks about my mother. I think she likes to pretend that she never had a sister. She likes to pretend that I don't exist either."

Harry fell silent, then he begun to get up, putting his glasses back on, not that they could help his vision much with all that dirt on them. "I'm sorry," Harry said. "You don't want to listen to my sob story. I should just go." He begun to walk away, shoulders slumped and shoes sloshing.

"Don't!" Steve got up and grabbed Harry's wrist, stopping him. "Don't go. I… I get how you feel, I'm an orphan too. I always get picked on by the other kids at the orphanage. I…"

"Tell me?"

"Dad died in the Great War, in one of the German camps; gas. I never got to meet him. Mum died a few years back in tuberculosis; she caught it when she worked as a nurse. I've been living at an orphanage ever since."

They were silent for a bit. Neither boy had expected to find someone who they could connect to like this.

"My aunt and uncle always threaten me with the orphanage, I have often wondered if I wouldn't be better off at one."

"That depends," Steve said, "if you are lucky you get good clothes, a warm meal every day and a chance to go to school. It can be good if you avoid getting into trouble."

"Doesn't sound any different from how I have it. If I do my chores and don't bother my aunt and uncle, they give me food and they do give me Dudley's old clothes. I know its better then some have it. And now that I know it wouldn't be worse at an orphanage I shall never again allow those threats to frighten me."

Steve nodded seriously. "Would you like to get out of here?" he asked. "I know a place where we could get out of the rain and if we're lucky we could also get something to eat."

"I'd like that."

Steve smiled tentatively and struck out his hand. He bit his lip when he saw how dirty it was, and then he remembered that the other boy was in a similar state. "Hello," he said. "My name is Steven Rogers, but you can call me Steve."

He got an answering smile, which held as much cautious hope as his own heart. Harry grabbed his hand and shook it firmly. "Pleased to meet you, Steve. I'm Harry Potter."

And that was the beginning of their friendship.


	6. A Change is Coming

That day in April Steve had brought Harry to a bakery which was owned by an old, Bulgarian couple. Mr. and Mrs. Stefanov were kind people and once a month they gave some baked goods to the orphanage. That was how Steve knew about them.

One time he when he had needed to get away from the orphanage, a snowstorm had begun unexpectedly and as by change he had ended up by the bakery. Mrs. Stefanov had taken pity on him when he desperately sought shelter inside the shop and she had allowed him to sit in the back by one of the great ovens. Then she had proceeded to give him a couple of pastries which was a few days old and couldn't be sold any longer, but was just as good despite that.

She had also told him in slightly broken English that he was welcome to come back anytime, as long as he didn't get in the way of her or her husband and didn't stir up any trouble. Steve of course wouldn't dream of bringing any trouble to Mrs. Stefanov and he'd sought shelter in the Bulgarian's bakery a number of times.

When Mrs. Stefanov had seen Harry for the first time that day she had smiled, her kind brown eyes drowning in wrinkles and she had expressed happiness at seeing Steve with a friend and said that he was just as welcome to come their whenever he may please. Then she has ushered them into the shop, and had them seated on the floor by the cooling oven where they could dry off.

-«¤»-

Their friendship had evolved slowly to a beginning. They were both hesitant and afraid to trust, never having had a friend before. With time they learned that they could trust each other, as they kept being true to their word. So far they had never let one another down and that was saying a lot. It was new to the two boys to have someone to rely on. In their experience you were always let down in the end.

They never imagined that they were special or that their stories were any more tragic than anyone else's, there were way to many miserable people in the world to pretend that, you need only look to your neighbour to see how true it was, but it felt good to have someone to talk with, someone who could understand and to whom their problems, no matter how small in the scale of things, mattered.

When Harry needed to escape the Dursleys when they were just too much for him he could always go to the orphanage, nobody there noticed one extra kid running about. As long as Harry stayed out of the way around mealtimes and lights out he wouldn't be counted and no one would notice that he shouldn't be there. And when Steve couldn't take being at the orphanage any more and fled to the park, or to Mr. and Mrs. Stefanov's bakery he never had to be alone.

As underdogs they knew that they were safer together, but the best part was that when they were with each other they didn't have to feel like the curb of society, unwanted and weak, they could just be themselves. They didn't have to be, the freak and the weakling. To each other they were simply Harry and Steve.

As they had met for the first time in Prospect Park it became their most frequent hideout. In the vast park there were places where you could keep dry even in a storm and there were places where no one would be able to find them unless they wished to be found.

They would meet after school and on weekends, spending time making up games, talking or just sitting quietly in each other's company.

-«¤»-

Now it was in the middle of summer. During the summer Harry and Steve could meet up each day. It was a good time of year. It was warm so they didn't need to feel bound to their respective homes. They met by the Lake in Prospect Park every morning unless something was wrong.

They had come up with a system for how they should react if the other didn't come. It could happen sometimes after all and there was nothing queer about it, one day with a no show was all right. If it happened two days in a row they would begin to get worried and on the third day it was time to investigate. Because when that happened you were probably in trouble, just taking for example the last time it had happened with Harry.

The last time Harry didn't show for three days he had been locked away in his cupboard, not allowed to go out and barely given anything to eat, the Dursleys having blamed him for some strange occurrence or another that Harry couldn't explain.

Steve went to the park as always, sitting down on the grass in front of the large lake, stretching out his legs in front of him and wriggling his toes inside the stuffy shoes. It was the third day since he had seen Harry and he was really hoping Harry would show up. It was the thirty-first of July, Harry's birthday and it was simply wrong that his friend was missing. Today he should be there so that Steve could make sure his day was great, just as Harry had done for him on his birthday a few weeks earlier.

Steve had been saving any money he cold get his hands on. He'd found a few dimes and a couple of nickels and an additional handful of pennies on the street as he roamed around, people could be surprisingly careless with their change. He had saved the coins since winter, planning to buy Harry a fresh pastry from the bakery for his birthday. Steve had also made a drawing, he didn't think it was anything special, but since he could, there was no reason not to and he knew that Harry would appreciate the gesture.

The drawing was supposed to be of the two of them grown up and successful some time in the far future. He didn't think his drawing was anything like what they would actually look like, they were both too tall and muscular for it to become reality. The only thing to identify them by, were that one man had light hair and the other dark.

As time dragged on and Harry continued to be absent he got worried. The rule said that he should go locking and he didn't wait past midday to do so. He didn't want to believe that Harry was once more locked inside his cupboard, but he couldn't help to think that it was exactly what had happened. His friend should have to put up with that on his eleventh birthday.

The last time Harry had spoken with him he had mentioned that there had been a letter to him when his Aunt went to the Post Office. He had only learnt of it as he had heard Petunia complain about it to Vernon. She has said that it was from  _them_ , according Harry making the simple word sound like an awful curse.

Steve wouldn't be surprised if Harry's lack of appearance had something to do with that letter and he wouldn't be idle anymore He knew very well that he wasn't welcome at number 124 Midwood Street, but he felt obligated to help Harry if he could. Who else did Harry have to look out for him? The answer was that there wasn't anyone so naturally Steve had to do it.

He walked down the lane, taking in the buildings with the small gardens in front and the tall trees lining the street, watching them idly as his mind ran rampart with possible scenarios of what might happen at his arrival.

The only times he had ventured there Harry's Aunt had looked at him like he was a pest which she would like nothing more than to exterminate, and she had made it implacably known that he wasn't welcome in or even around her home. The saddest part was that she would have said the same to Harry if some sort of obligation didn't hold her tongue.

He and Harry had discussed that a few times, what with the Dursleys so obviously not wanting him around it was strange that they put up with him at all. They could quite easily get rid of him of they so desired, no one would be able to keep track of just another orphan in a city as large as New York. But regardless of their loathing Harry did had a home in their house.

He came up to number 124 and he didn't know if he should be relieved or not, it was obvious that there was no one home. Drapes had been pulled over the windows. The grass was growing high and the car was gone.

Across the street there was a lot of activity, making the Dursley's residence appear even more desolate. Men in blue work clothes were moving in furniture, hurrying in and out. Then there was one man standing by the low wall upfront watching them all like a hawk.

Steve straitened his shoulders and walked over. "Excuse me," he said glancing up at the man. He looked very none describe with brown hair and pale eyes.

"Yes?" he tore his eyed away from one of the men who were carrying a large Chinese vase. "What can I help you with young sir?" His voice was bland. It had an indistinguishable accent and Steve felt as if he would never be able to pick this man out of a crowd. He got the feeling that the Dursleys would very much approve of him, as they approved of normal and orderly people.

"I was wondering if you knew where the family who lives across the street, the Dursleys, are?"

"No, I can't say that I do," the man answered looking at the dark windows of number 124. "Although I did notice them leaving in a haste a few days ago. It didn't seem to me as if the trip was planned and I did overhear Mrs, Jenkins asking when they would be back and… Mr. Dursley was it?" When Steve nodded he continued, "Answered that it was undecided. I think that his wife and sons looked rather put out by the whole thing."

"Not sons," Steve said before thinking. It wasn't his business to tell anyone about Harry's family.

"Oh?" The man didn't appear to care much, just showing idle interest. "You know them?"

"I'm friends with Harry. He's Mrs. Dursley's nephew."

"I see. Well, young sir, it is a pleasure to make your acquaintance. I am Robert Smith." The man offered his hand and Steve's much smaller hand was engulfed by it as he accepted the handshake.

"Steve Rogers," he said politely.

"I'm sure everything is all right with your friend. You'll see that they are back soon enough."

"I hope so."

"Hmm, yes. Are you and young Harry good friends?"

"Yes." Steve nodded.

"Have you known him long?"

"About a year."

"Hmm. We'll then Mr. Rogers, I think you best be off. Don't hesitate to say hello if you see me again."

"I- Yes, sir. Good bye, Mr. Smith."

Steve began to walk back towards the orphanage, none of his worry revealed, though he now understood why Harry hadn't showed up id didn't mean he wasn't in trouble. "Happy Birthday, Harry," he murmured taking one last look at number 124.

-«¤»-

Harry shivered, pulling the threadbare blanket that he had managed to snatch from Dudley when his cousin kicked it off in his sleep closer around himself. He sat huddled in the corner of the large room in the shack his Uncle had taken them to this evening.

It had started with a letter. A letter addressed to him. Then there had been more. He hadn't known of it at first as they were all brought to the Post Office and it was his Aunt who went there to get them. Before she had sometimes had him go there as to save herself the time, but since the first letter to him that had arrived sometime mid July he had not been asked.

Things changed a few days ago. The letters had begun to arrive directly to their home, carried by owls no less. Despite the flood of heavy parchment envelopes addressed to him, Harry hadn't gotten his hands on a single one, his Aunt and Uncle had made sure of it.

Since the arrival of the first letter his Uncle had grown more and more tense, making Harry think that there might have been even more letters he wasn't privy to. At last on the twenty-ninth of July Vernon had snapped. Harry didn't know what had caused it to happen, but the man had yelled at them to pack a few things and get into the car, and none of them had dared to argue. You don't argue with a man who's face has taken on the colour of puce and who's veins look like they are about to burst through the skin.

He wondered what Steve must be thinking. He'd missed their meetings for three days now and he'd spent his eleventh birthday stuck in Vernon's car as they kept driving farther and farther north along the coast.

It had been a rather miserable day, not that his birthday ever had received much of a celebration. He was certain that the Dursleys didn't even know the date, well they did know, but only so that they could make sure that it became even more miserable than the rest of the year's three-hundred-sixty-five days.

The first time he'd ever gotten a birthday gift was last year, the same year he first gained a friend. Steve had made him a drawing and he had blushed profoundly when he gave it to Harry, thinking that it wasn't enough, but Harry couldn't have been happier, it was his first birthday gift and that meant everything.

The drawing had been of a puppy, sitting with its head tilted to the side next to a large ball. Written on top had been 'Happy Birthday' and on the back Steve had written that sometime in the future he'd get Harry a real dog, if he wanted, but that this would have to do for now.

Harry sighed, drawing a dog himself in the dust on the floor before his feet. He didn't manage to do half as well as Steve, and the dog looked more like a pig or perhaps Dudley walking on all fours, than a dog. Harry smiled wistfully, wishing that he was with Steve instead of here.

He couldn't tell how late it was, he could just listen as a storm began to build outside the walls of the miserable excuse for a house they were in. The wind was whizzing around the corners, rattling the slightly lose windowpanes, and eventually heavy rainfall added to the noise.

A chill began to creep through the walls and Harry gave up the thought of sleeping. He might not be used to great comfort, but with all this ruckus going on and the cold seeping under his stolen blanket he didn't think there was any chance he'd be able to get any rest.

His idea was cemented when the first roll of thunder travelled through the heavens, groaning and moaning, the low sound making the walls of the shack vibrate. Harry curled tighter around himself, wondering how Dudley could sleep though it all, but perhaps it was because his cousin's snores were competing with the thunder on who could be louder. Harry could have sworn that as the noise of the storm got higher so did Dudley's snores.

The thunder and lightning was moving and soon it was right over head and Harry was sure that he'd never heard anything louder. Then as a particularly ear-splitting thunderclap shook the house, someone knocked on the door.


End file.
